I just want to throw this invasion back and send a "From: Tyrian To: The Mechanicum XOXOXOXO" of all the xenos bits we got from this.
And They Shall Know No Fear (Warhammer 30K-40K Astartes Quest)
- Location
- Anatolia
All that would get you is a restraining order.
Really? I thought they really like to "look" at Xeno tech?
- Location
- Anatolia
It's more the form the message coming with it took.
Shall we convene in the rolls room?
- Location
- Anatolia
Yep, just have to set it up.
Just lemme know and I'll be there.
- Location
- Anatolia
I'm happy enough with this, average luck is better than frakky luck.We need more people to roll fellas.
Azgrin's roll for Tyrian gathering support.
Orders followed.
Thanks mate!Orders followed.
Good rolls in my opinion. Hopefully this drives them off the ship come update time.
I thought this added up to 99 in the rolz room?
- Location
- Anatolia
Someone else rolled, so I decided to use a player roll rather than my own.
Huh, so you did use my roll, cool.
The Battle for The Argo: Final
- Location
- Anatolia
As you dash down the hallways of The Argos towards the construction bay Majoris Mechanicus, you tap into the vox channel systems of the ship to link into the disparate channels of the different parts of the Crusade Fleet onboard The Argos. "This is Legion Master Tyrian, to all units currently combat capable and able to move, I am heading to construction bay Majoris Mechanicus to drive off the Eldar assault taking place there. If you are able, make your way to my vox frequencies location and fall in behind me. To any Astartes with Terminator honors and is able, make your way to the Teleportarium and prepare to teleport into the midst of enemy once coordinates are give." With that, you switch off your vox and focus on moving as fast as you can to the construction bay.
Your breath ringing in your ears and your footsteps becoming like constant booms of thunder. Your perception becoming increasingly blurred as you go faster and faster, bulkheads and plating fading away into streaks of grey, red, and other colors. Until you hit that familiar apex, Fastigium, to become one with your speed and to embrace it. The noise of alarms and weapon fire fading away into silence, much too slow to ever reach you as you accelerate even more. The hallway returns to vision, no longer streaks of color unable to be processed. Soon, the span of distance between you and your destination has completely disappeared.
You remember the sound of lightning. You remember what noise it made when you cut it.
The construction bay Majoris Mechanicus is arrayed in a collection of suspended bridges and catwalks suspended over massive furnaces, bellows, and conveyor belts. Each constantly spitting out different components that will be utilized for different devices. A massive lake of molten metal lies directly beneath the main platform of the construction bay, massive crucibles being dipped into the lake by chains to be filled and then pulled off to other parts of the assembly line. This is what you arrive to, a massive factory under siege. With a gigantic boarding torpedo piercing through one of the walls, like the head of a divine spear. Spewing it's venomous cargo into the belly of your ship, and assaulting the bulwark you have rapidly ordered assembled to push it back.
What you see is equally more than you could hope and less than you had expected. At least a hundred Astartes have appeared to have been able to answer your call, along with a sizeable portion of the Imperial Army attachment assigned to this ship. You don't bother counting as their mass in numbers is considerable enough to strain even post human brains. All of them currently spread across the entirety of the construction bay, locked in combat with a mixture of the abominations of the Eldar, the less disciplined of the xenos, the silent black uniformed ilk, and a group of even more heavily armed and disciplined Eldar in the same vein of the black suited one's ilk.
Of this number you spotted at most, three hundred. But each more than made up for their rarity in pure skill and deadliness. Something proven by multiple of their number fighting alone against threes, fours, and even fives of Astartes as equals. Their blades slicing through the air in admittedly beautiful patterns, resembling more silvery cords of silk being twirled through the air than the actual deadly implements that they were.
To die to them was not a disgrace. But neither was killing them.
And beyond them you spotted what you assumed was the leader of this entire farce. A face that would not be out of place on classical marble statues, with regal sharp cheekbones and a strong pointed chin denoting aristocratic heritage. A simply yet tastefully cut head of obsidian colored hair, short enough to not be useable as a handhold yet long enough to accentuate his features. Thin, tapered eyebrows and an eye of such an emerald green that you might mistake it for the actual jewel, and you say eye as he only had one. Only a jagged gaping hole where his right should be, almost as if someone had taken a serrated drill and driven it back and forth into his eye socket multiple times in quick succession. Leaving only a gaping darkness behind, which no effort had been undertaken to hide it from the world.
His body is incredibly well muscled even beyond the forms of his underlings, as if he has put everything he had into crafting his body into the ultimate weapon of war. Thick, densely packed muscle covering his entire body like the steel cording used to build so many of the Mechanicus' machinery. It was not conventionally aesthetically pleasing as its purpose, that had obviously been a side effect of its masters aim of martial prowess. And as such, it simply reminded you of many of the predatory beast of Terra, powerful, graceful, and unimaginably deadly. An apt comparison would of a long gone animal the Emperor had taught you of , Panthera Tigris, a large powerful feline which was fully capable of dominating any territory it decided upon claiming.
That body is garbed with one of the most advanced suits you had ever seen, incredibly form fitting yet also deflecting full on hits from the bolters of your brothers. Treating the weighty rounds a no more than irritants, bouncing off its frame completely. There is no ornamentation to be found anywhere on his armor, no filigree, no crests, and not even an markings aside from what you approximate as a facsimile of a human skull built into his breastplate directly where, if he were human, his heart would be protected. There appears to be writing upon it, but the combination of distance and xenos script make it impossible to make out.
He does not care for bands of gold or exotic maidens. His muse is battle and his wife is conflict.
In his hand is an equally plain yet high quality sword, easily capable of sliding through the power armor of Astartes that attack him as if it wasn't even there. And his movements show a surety and deftness that verifies, he has been doing this for a LONG time. There are no flaws, only intentional openings, no missteps, only another step in his own little dance recital. If his underlings made their swords twirl like silk then he made his blade dance. There is no beginning or end to his attacks, merely swirling waves of movement that flow into one another without end.
That's when he spots you across the battlefield, after having disemboweled one of your brothers with minimal effort and nary a sign of acknowledging it, his eye lock with yours. For a moment there appears to be shock, he did not expect to see you here. And it almost costs him as one of the ten of your brothers currently surrounding him atop a gigantic turning gear swings his chainsword for the Eldar's neck. It almost seems effortless, as he redirects the roaring chained blade with a twirl of the tip of his sword. Barely moving the rest of his blade as your brothers seems to fly out of his grasp, followed by his head as the Eldar moves faster than he can react and beheads him. His body slumping to the ground as the helmet bounces off the gear into the fracas below.
His shocked expression rapidly morphs into one of complete glee and happiness, his single eye never leaving yours even as he rapidly dispatches the remaining nine Astartes surround him with minimal effort. Each strike aimed to be immediately lethal, punching through throats or the eye slits of their helmets. In the time it takes you to cleave through the ongoing battle, he has already killed them all. Simply stood waiting for you atop the turning gear.
His love is his blade, and death is his bouquet.
When you arrive he gives you a friendly wave of his hand, the action almost immediately confusing you and putting you on guard. This is followed by him greeting you with an incredibly baritone voice. "Well, well, well, I didn't expect to find you so close to your beloved throne world Tyrian. Last I heard you were making plans over in Segmentum Obscurus to uproot Abaddon's little home away from home." His voice a mixture of a chello and violin in its tone and pitch. Musical, but with an undertone of malevolence to it.
What is he talking about? You'd never even seen one of his species before now, and what in the Warp was Segmentum Obscurus? It sounded like a destination, but you'd never been anywhere like that. As such, you decided to ignore it for now and focus on killing the enemy before you. Something he seemed to agree with, as you lifted up your sword and dashed towards him, he followed suit.
*KLANG-ZACKT!* Your blades meet with a thunderous impact, your power field sending trails of lightning across his own blade. The attempt to slip your own blade down his to sever his fingers, but he had apparently read your intent already ducked back out of range of your blade, releasing the blade lock before twirling to strike at your side. Something you block with the flat of your own blade.
He merely smiles and proceeds to attempt to perforate your face with rapid jabs of his sword, all the while talking to you. "It's honestly be awhile since you tried that on me old friend, almost caught me with that basic trick, not bad." After ducking past his jabs, you attempt a cleaving strike which he dodges past, the blade sliding across just on top of his armored right side. Thusly you respond, "I have never met you before in my life accursed xeno."
This seems to halt him for a moment, almost enough for your power sword to reach his neck before he ducks underneath your blade. "Now that's just hurtful, I don't pretend to not know you when you try to stop my raids. Or did the Pillaging of Arkhenfall never happen? I remember what you swore that day even now. Promised you would display my shattered skull from the prow of the "Farzin Behnam Bahadur", forgive me, but you don't forget that kind of promise." He seems to recall this with an almost infatuated longing air.
"Unless." He seems to still in thought, dashing back out of reach for a moment and muttering to himself. You stand on guard, ready for any movement of his. "Yes, the prophetess did foretell of a Mobius Strip. Something with no beginning or end. Is this it?!" He begins to become incredibly excited, manic energy filling his now twitching body. Setting you at ill ease, you raise your blade and dash forward to skewer the rambling xeno.
He steps closer to the truth.
Rather than be impaled by your blade he leaps over your significant height and lands behind you. Seemingly having discovered some kind of secret of the universe considering how twitchy he had become. "YES!" He shouts euphorically, every inch of him jittering with energy. "This the inciting event! The one thing that sets our journey to begin it's lovely dance of death!" His words are still incomprehensible, as are his movements. Dodging every time you strike, his body seemingly instinctually reacting to your movements even as he pays no attention to you. It doesn't seem like he's faster than you, and even with your exchanges it was apparent he was not your match in sword paly either.
What it seems more like is that he has memorized your style, copying every single blade stroke and footstep and training until his body can react to any action without conscious effort. Which is impossible, no one who has faced your blade has lived to tell about it. Yet here this Eldar is that seems to train obsessively just to match your movements. Who is he? What is he?!
LOOK UPON YOUR RIVAL, MY SON OF CONFLICT! FOR HE IS YOU BROTHER IN THIS DUET OF CARNAGE!
*THOOM!* Both your confusion and his euphoria are interrupted by a change in the battle going on below you, as a sizeable multitude of marines in Terminator armor of varying kinds begin teleporting into the midst of the enemy force. Thunder Hammers obliterating entire columns, Thunder Claws slicing through all resistance, and Assault Cannons punching through the fleshy multitude. The armored behemoths of the Fifteenth Legion begin to reap a heavy tally amongst the Eldar assault.
One particular group of unfortunate xenos are unlucky in that the initial hammer strike does not kill them, but the impact sending them twirling into the lake of molten fixes that problem. Their screams merely joining the chorus of the battle, as the appearance of the Terminators incites a charge from your brothers and the Imperial soldiers with them. Slamming into the now exposed back of the xenos number, distracted by the appearance of your more heavily armored brethren.
With this you turn back to the Eldar leader besides you. His grin almost splitting his face with how wide it is, he speaks. "As it always has to be My Beloved Nemesis, let us dance this twisted ballet of bloodshed and glittering blades until the end of time!" Followed by him dashing towards you, his sword zooming to find purchase in your chest. It is only with a rapid block with the hilt of your sword, chipping it, that you do not end up impaled on your enemy's power sword.
Charging forward you loosen your grip on your blade, swinging horizontally from right to left, you let his deflection push your blade into a reverse sword grip. Followed by a rapid thrust that seems to surprise him, he's almost able to get out of the way, but you leave a large slash across his right side. He grunts in pain as the wound begins to ooze ruby crimson ichor, flowing down the side of armor and dripping on the ground. He looks down at the wound and grins, looking back up to you and speaks. "Damn, how is it you always get me to fall for that?" The question sounding semi-joking, but with a grain actual inquisitive nature.
With that asked, something extremely peculiar begins to take place. His body begins to lose its focus, becoming hazy and see through, as he begins to be covered in a wave of pinkish wind that seemed to burn like a flame paradoxically. He looks down and curses. "Isha's tits, looks like it really would only last this long. Just like she said." Looking back up as the flames spread, he gives you a hard stare. "This may be the end of our time together for now, but we WILL meet again. Either now or millennia to come. I SWEAR it!. We will meet for the first time!" And with that he is enveloped in the flames, which seem to fly away for a distance before evaporating. As you look on, similar events are happening across the battlefield, any surviving Eldar disappearing in clouds of pink flame-wind never to be seen again. Though, those slain still seem to remain.
As this happens you receive a vox call from the bridge, answering it you speak. "This is Tyrian, what's happened Aventus?" Your second-in-command being the only one who would have your vox frequency on the bridge. "The battle is over my lord, we have driven off the assault from the Eldar. Though not without casualties." There is some clicking before he continues. "At least twenty percent of all Imperial Army members on board the ship have become casualties, either heavily injured or proper fatalities. While large parts of the ship itself are also noticeably damaged, we have also managed to destroy all six of the harassing smaller vessels, though the larger ship simply disappeared in a strangely colored conflagration without a trace." A breath and then more words. "Among the fallen invaders all those who have been killed have remained, as has the wreckage of the destroyed ships and the equipment of the fallen, all according to reports received across the ship."
"This will only be the beginning Tyrian, my boy" "Really Father?" "Yes, when we are done the stars will once more belong to Mankind. As is their birthright. Just as they will belong to you, for are you not my child and the child of Man?"
You ponder this for a moment before responding. "Has the rest of the fleet finally caught up with us?" The response is almost instant. "Yes, they are sending both ships and inquiries to ascertain our status and to help secure our breaches." That at least is good news. You nod before responding. "Then get us back on track to the next compliance Aventus, while we repair damage, and I write a report to send back to High Imperial Command. This is definitely going to raise some eyebrows." A chuckle over the vox. "It definitely will indeed my lord." And with that the vox cuts off. With that done you set off down the gear hill you had been standing on, to begin damage reports and the long process of repairing the ship.
FINAL RESULTS:
Casualties:
- 350 Astartes of varying rank - 100 wounded among casualties, 20 slated for Dreadnoughts, rest fatalities
- 25,000 Imperial Army members of varying class and rank - 1000 critically wounded, 500 minorly wounded, rest fatalities
REWARDS:
- Sizeable amount of alien technology of different types and sizes
- Remaining Astartes and Imperial Army members on ship are now seasoned.
- More Questions Than Answers
Author's Note* Whoof this took a lot of work. This is the final part before we begin the five years of crusading in the next chapter of the quest. The Intro is now over and the training wheels are now off. WELCOME TO THE REAL MAN'S WORLD. And may the odds be ever in your favor.
Your breath ringing in your ears and your footsteps becoming like constant booms of thunder. Your perception becoming increasingly blurred as you go faster and faster, bulkheads and plating fading away into streaks of grey, red, and other colors. Until you hit that familiar apex, Fastigium, to become one with your speed and to embrace it. The noise of alarms and weapon fire fading away into silence, much too slow to ever reach you as you accelerate even more. The hallway returns to vision, no longer streaks of color unable to be processed. Soon, the span of distance between you and your destination has completely disappeared.
You remember the sound of lightning. You remember what noise it made when you cut it.
The construction bay Majoris Mechanicus is arrayed in a collection of suspended bridges and catwalks suspended over massive furnaces, bellows, and conveyor belts. Each constantly spitting out different components that will be utilized for different devices. A massive lake of molten metal lies directly beneath the main platform of the construction bay, massive crucibles being dipped into the lake by chains to be filled and then pulled off to other parts of the assembly line. This is what you arrive to, a massive factory under siege. With a gigantic boarding torpedo piercing through one of the walls, like the head of a divine spear. Spewing it's venomous cargo into the belly of your ship, and assaulting the bulwark you have rapidly ordered assembled to push it back.
What you see is equally more than you could hope and less than you had expected. At least a hundred Astartes have appeared to have been able to answer your call, along with a sizeable portion of the Imperial Army attachment assigned to this ship. You don't bother counting as their mass in numbers is considerable enough to strain even post human brains. All of them currently spread across the entirety of the construction bay, locked in combat with a mixture of the abominations of the Eldar, the less disciplined of the xenos, the silent black uniformed ilk, and a group of even more heavily armed and disciplined Eldar in the same vein of the black suited one's ilk.
Of this number you spotted at most, three hundred. But each more than made up for their rarity in pure skill and deadliness. Something proven by multiple of their number fighting alone against threes, fours, and even fives of Astartes as equals. Their blades slicing through the air in admittedly beautiful patterns, resembling more silvery cords of silk being twirled through the air than the actual deadly implements that they were.
To die to them was not a disgrace. But neither was killing them.
And beyond them you spotted what you assumed was the leader of this entire farce. A face that would not be out of place on classical marble statues, with regal sharp cheekbones and a strong pointed chin denoting aristocratic heritage. A simply yet tastefully cut head of obsidian colored hair, short enough to not be useable as a handhold yet long enough to accentuate his features. Thin, tapered eyebrows and an eye of such an emerald green that you might mistake it for the actual jewel, and you say eye as he only had one. Only a jagged gaping hole where his right should be, almost as if someone had taken a serrated drill and driven it back and forth into his eye socket multiple times in quick succession. Leaving only a gaping darkness behind, which no effort had been undertaken to hide it from the world.
His body is incredibly well muscled even beyond the forms of his underlings, as if he has put everything he had into crafting his body into the ultimate weapon of war. Thick, densely packed muscle covering his entire body like the steel cording used to build so many of the Mechanicus' machinery. It was not conventionally aesthetically pleasing as its purpose, that had obviously been a side effect of its masters aim of martial prowess. And as such, it simply reminded you of many of the predatory beast of Terra, powerful, graceful, and unimaginably deadly. An apt comparison would of a long gone animal the Emperor had taught you of , Panthera Tigris, a large powerful feline which was fully capable of dominating any territory it decided upon claiming.
That body is garbed with one of the most advanced suits you had ever seen, incredibly form fitting yet also deflecting full on hits from the bolters of your brothers. Treating the weighty rounds a no more than irritants, bouncing off its frame completely. There is no ornamentation to be found anywhere on his armor, no filigree, no crests, and not even an markings aside from what you approximate as a facsimile of a human skull built into his breastplate directly where, if he were human, his heart would be protected. There appears to be writing upon it, but the combination of distance and xenos script make it impossible to make out.
He does not care for bands of gold or exotic maidens. His muse is battle and his wife is conflict.
In his hand is an equally plain yet high quality sword, easily capable of sliding through the power armor of Astartes that attack him as if it wasn't even there. And his movements show a surety and deftness that verifies, he has been doing this for a LONG time. There are no flaws, only intentional openings, no missteps, only another step in his own little dance recital. If his underlings made their swords twirl like silk then he made his blade dance. There is no beginning or end to his attacks, merely swirling waves of movement that flow into one another without end.
That's when he spots you across the battlefield, after having disemboweled one of your brothers with minimal effort and nary a sign of acknowledging it, his eye lock with yours. For a moment there appears to be shock, he did not expect to see you here. And it almost costs him as one of the ten of your brothers currently surrounding him atop a gigantic turning gear swings his chainsword for the Eldar's neck. It almost seems effortless, as he redirects the roaring chained blade with a twirl of the tip of his sword. Barely moving the rest of his blade as your brothers seems to fly out of his grasp, followed by his head as the Eldar moves faster than he can react and beheads him. His body slumping to the ground as the helmet bounces off the gear into the fracas below.
His shocked expression rapidly morphs into one of complete glee and happiness, his single eye never leaving yours even as he rapidly dispatches the remaining nine Astartes surround him with minimal effort. Each strike aimed to be immediately lethal, punching through throats or the eye slits of their helmets. In the time it takes you to cleave through the ongoing battle, he has already killed them all. Simply stood waiting for you atop the turning gear.
His love is his blade, and death is his bouquet.
When you arrive he gives you a friendly wave of his hand, the action almost immediately confusing you and putting you on guard. This is followed by him greeting you with an incredibly baritone voice. "Well, well, well, I didn't expect to find you so close to your beloved throne world Tyrian. Last I heard you were making plans over in Segmentum Obscurus to uproot Abaddon's little home away from home." His voice a mixture of a chello and violin in its tone and pitch. Musical, but with an undertone of malevolence to it.
What is he talking about? You'd never even seen one of his species before now, and what in the Warp was Segmentum Obscurus? It sounded like a destination, but you'd never been anywhere like that. As such, you decided to ignore it for now and focus on killing the enemy before you. Something he seemed to agree with, as you lifted up your sword and dashed towards him, he followed suit.
*KLANG-ZACKT!* Your blades meet with a thunderous impact, your power field sending trails of lightning across his own blade. The attempt to slip your own blade down his to sever his fingers, but he had apparently read your intent already ducked back out of range of your blade, releasing the blade lock before twirling to strike at your side. Something you block with the flat of your own blade.
He merely smiles and proceeds to attempt to perforate your face with rapid jabs of his sword, all the while talking to you. "It's honestly be awhile since you tried that on me old friend, almost caught me with that basic trick, not bad." After ducking past his jabs, you attempt a cleaving strike which he dodges past, the blade sliding across just on top of his armored right side. Thusly you respond, "I have never met you before in my life accursed xeno."
This seems to halt him for a moment, almost enough for your power sword to reach his neck before he ducks underneath your blade. "Now that's just hurtful, I don't pretend to not know you when you try to stop my raids. Or did the Pillaging of Arkhenfall never happen? I remember what you swore that day even now. Promised you would display my shattered skull from the prow of the "Farzin Behnam Bahadur", forgive me, but you don't forget that kind of promise." He seems to recall this with an almost infatuated longing air.
"Unless." He seems to still in thought, dashing back out of reach for a moment and muttering to himself. You stand on guard, ready for any movement of his. "Yes, the prophetess did foretell of a Mobius Strip. Something with no beginning or end. Is this it?!" He begins to become incredibly excited, manic energy filling his now twitching body. Setting you at ill ease, you raise your blade and dash forward to skewer the rambling xeno.
He steps closer to the truth.
Rather than be impaled by your blade he leaps over your significant height and lands behind you. Seemingly having discovered some kind of secret of the universe considering how twitchy he had become. "YES!" He shouts euphorically, every inch of him jittering with energy. "This the inciting event! The one thing that sets our journey to begin it's lovely dance of death!" His words are still incomprehensible, as are his movements. Dodging every time you strike, his body seemingly instinctually reacting to your movements even as he pays no attention to you. It doesn't seem like he's faster than you, and even with your exchanges it was apparent he was not your match in sword paly either.
What it seems more like is that he has memorized your style, copying every single blade stroke and footstep and training until his body can react to any action without conscious effort. Which is impossible, no one who has faced your blade has lived to tell about it. Yet here this Eldar is that seems to train obsessively just to match your movements. Who is he? What is he?!
LOOK UPON YOUR RIVAL, MY SON OF CONFLICT! FOR HE IS YOU BROTHER IN THIS DUET OF CARNAGE!
*THOOM!* Both your confusion and his euphoria are interrupted by a change in the battle going on below you, as a sizeable multitude of marines in Terminator armor of varying kinds begin teleporting into the midst of the enemy force. Thunder Hammers obliterating entire columns, Thunder Claws slicing through all resistance, and Assault Cannons punching through the fleshy multitude. The armored behemoths of the Fifteenth Legion begin to reap a heavy tally amongst the Eldar assault.
One particular group of unfortunate xenos are unlucky in that the initial hammer strike does not kill them, but the impact sending them twirling into the lake of molten fixes that problem. Their screams merely joining the chorus of the battle, as the appearance of the Terminators incites a charge from your brothers and the Imperial soldiers with them. Slamming into the now exposed back of the xenos number, distracted by the appearance of your more heavily armored brethren.
With this you turn back to the Eldar leader besides you. His grin almost splitting his face with how wide it is, he speaks. "As it always has to be My Beloved Nemesis, let us dance this twisted ballet of bloodshed and glittering blades until the end of time!" Followed by him dashing towards you, his sword zooming to find purchase in your chest. It is only with a rapid block with the hilt of your sword, chipping it, that you do not end up impaled on your enemy's power sword.
Charging forward you loosen your grip on your blade, swinging horizontally from right to left, you let his deflection push your blade into a reverse sword grip. Followed by a rapid thrust that seems to surprise him, he's almost able to get out of the way, but you leave a large slash across his right side. He grunts in pain as the wound begins to ooze ruby crimson ichor, flowing down the side of armor and dripping on the ground. He looks down at the wound and grins, looking back up to you and speaks. "Damn, how is it you always get me to fall for that?" The question sounding semi-joking, but with a grain actual inquisitive nature.
With that asked, something extremely peculiar begins to take place. His body begins to lose its focus, becoming hazy and see through, as he begins to be covered in a wave of pinkish wind that seemed to burn like a flame paradoxically. He looks down and curses. "Isha's tits, looks like it really would only last this long. Just like she said." Looking back up as the flames spread, he gives you a hard stare. "This may be the end of our time together for now, but we WILL meet again. Either now or millennia to come. I SWEAR it!. We will meet for the first time!" And with that he is enveloped in the flames, which seem to fly away for a distance before evaporating. As you look on, similar events are happening across the battlefield, any surviving Eldar disappearing in clouds of pink flame-wind never to be seen again. Though, those slain still seem to remain.
As this happens you receive a vox call from the bridge, answering it you speak. "This is Tyrian, what's happened Aventus?" Your second-in-command being the only one who would have your vox frequency on the bridge. "The battle is over my lord, we have driven off the assault from the Eldar. Though not without casualties." There is some clicking before he continues. "At least twenty percent of all Imperial Army members on board the ship have become casualties, either heavily injured or proper fatalities. While large parts of the ship itself are also noticeably damaged, we have also managed to destroy all six of the harassing smaller vessels, though the larger ship simply disappeared in a strangely colored conflagration without a trace." A breath and then more words. "Among the fallen invaders all those who have been killed have remained, as has the wreckage of the destroyed ships and the equipment of the fallen, all according to reports received across the ship."
"This will only be the beginning Tyrian, my boy" "Really Father?" "Yes, when we are done the stars will once more belong to Mankind. As is their birthright. Just as they will belong to you, for are you not my child and the child of Man?"
You ponder this for a moment before responding. "Has the rest of the fleet finally caught up with us?" The response is almost instant. "Yes, they are sending both ships and inquiries to ascertain our status and to help secure our breaches." That at least is good news. You nod before responding. "Then get us back on track to the next compliance Aventus, while we repair damage, and I write a report to send back to High Imperial Command. This is definitely going to raise some eyebrows." A chuckle over the vox. "It definitely will indeed my lord." And with that the vox cuts off. With that done you set off down the gear hill you had been standing on, to begin damage reports and the long process of repairing the ship.
FINAL RESULTS:
Casualties:
- 350 Astartes of varying rank - 100 wounded among casualties, 20 slated for Dreadnoughts, rest fatalities
- 25,000 Imperial Army members of varying class and rank - 1000 critically wounded, 500 minorly wounded, rest fatalities
REWARDS:
- Sizeable amount of alien technology of different types and sizes
- Remaining Astartes and Imperial Army members on ship are now seasoned.
- More Questions Than Answers
Author's Note* Whoof this took a lot of work. This is the final part before we begin the five years of crusading in the next chapter of the quest. The Intro is now over and the training wheels are now off. WELCOME TO THE REAL MAN'S WORLD. And may the odds be ever in your favor.
Last edited:
- Location
- United States
Well, apparently we have a time traveling nemesis.
That's a thing. Certainly explains why they were so out of character for 30K Eldar.
That's a thing. Certainly explains why they were so out of character for 30K Eldar.
Honestly, this is the most important tidbit. Both gives us an idea about the future of our legion, and IC raises suspicions of the rebellion. Mentioning Abbadon by name is particularly interesting and useful.
